


Illusory

by Neisha



Category: InuYasha - A Feudal Fairy Tale
Genre: Alternate Canon, Angst, Canon Related, Cuddling, Drama, Dreams, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Love, One Shot, POV First Person, Post canon, Romance, Sexual Content, Smut, Time Travel, Torture, word count over 1000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-13
Updated: 2011-09-13
Packaged: 2017-10-23 17:28:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/252908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neisha/pseuds/Neisha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They were ghosts in my memories, haunting me. I couldn't let them go, couldn't let him go…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Illusory

There were a lot of things I expected: I expected to graduate high school, living day-to-day, week to week, in a life everyone else planned out for me. I expected to watch my friends marry and have children, moving on while I continued to live in my past.

How could they expect me to move through my life as if the past  _didn't_  exist… as if  _he_  didn't exist? I couldn't forget him! I was hopelessly addicted, my every breath his to share, my every heartbeat calling his name.

He was in my dreams every night; we were always alone. I could still feel the heat of the campfire, could still hear the rustle of leaves shivering in the wind, the night's cool breeze ghosting over my flesh as softly as his hands were. I could still smell him, rustic and wild, feel the heat of his skin, and taste the flavor of his kiss. In the breath we shared, I could hear him declare his love for me, even as I declared mine for him.

Some nights we'd make love, slow and gentle, as if time itself couldn't touch us. Other nights we'd come together with fiery passion, so desperate for each other that breathing came second to our need. But we never found completion in my dreams. I always woke, disoriented and shaking with desire. And when the heat of passion burned away, I was left sobbing and lonely, mourning his loss all over again. But it's all I had left of him. I held on to that because I could no longer cling to him.

I  _couldn't_  forget him. To do so meant I'd have to cut out my heart and burn my soul. He was everything to me. They all were. They were ghosts in my memories, haunting me.

I couldn't let them go, couldn't let _him_  go…

But the well had taken them from me, closing the moment he'd brought me home, never to reopen despite the many times I ventured into its dark recesses. I wanted to fall through one last time, into waiting arms that would hold me forever in their warm embrace.

I cried myself to sleep countless times in its depths, begging the magic that had once opened so readily for me, to accept me once again, just one last time. But it never did, no matter how many tears I cried, no matter how many times my heart broke in the darkness.

What I never expected, however, was to see him everywhere I went while I was awake. I saw him so many times over the three years I spent without him: on street corners waiting for the bus, in restaurants ordering dinner… numerous incidences that both brought me hope, and tore open my heart.

The last time I saw him, he was standing on the stage in a lonely bar. I wouldn't have ventured into an establishment like that had it not been for the voice amplified through the band's speakers.

He was human, with long, dark hair and eyes that shimmered in the dim lighting. His voice rang out around me, singing a song I'd never heard before. Deep inside I  _knew_  it wasn't him, but that didn't stop hope from flaring to life in my chest, yet again.

The moment his eyes met mine, I pleaded with the kami to see recognition in their depths. I prayed he'd drop the microphone and come rushing to my side, arms extended to pull me against his chest, humming with excited heartbeats and breathless whispers meant for my ears alone.

But there was no recognition held in those beautiful gray eyes. His gaze met and held mine, but shifted an instant later to someone else in the crowd.

He didn't know me. I was nothing more to him than another party-goer mingling in the crowd. But I expected that, too. Somewhere inside I knew it wouldn't be him, it never was. But the heart sees what it wants, the mind following behind because it - _ **I**_ _-_ wanted so badly for it to be Inuyasha - wanted him  _here_ , with  _me._

But this wasn't the man who held my heart, the difference as obvious as water and sand. While similar, the man on that stage was no more Inuyasha than I was Kikyo.

I'd been so sure, was so convinced that maybe... maybe  _this_  time. But it wasn't and I felt my heart splinter yet again, the cracks widening so much that I thought it might shatter along with my sanity.

How many times had I followed a man, thinking it was Inuyasha, hoping beyond hope that he'd finally found his way back to me?  _Countless..._ And countless times my heart was broken as I chased the ghosts of my past.

It was after this sighting that I finally broke down in front of my family. My brave facade shattered, leaving behind a broken woman that none of us recognized. I told my family that if the well were to open for me again, I would use it, without second thought and without hesitation. And they understood. They cried with me, held me. I said my goodbyes that night, because I knew in my heart that I wasn't where I needed to be.

And in that moment, I knew... it was finally time.

I made my out to the well-house, ready to accept my fate, my destiny. This time, it was ready to accept me.

The well opened for me that night, and Inuyasha was waiting, just as he promised he would be. We laughed and we cried; we kissed and touched, swearing our love to each other. As we held each other by the campfire, the flames highlighting our bare skin, Inuyasha's naked body pressed intimately against mine, I realized…

We all have ghost stories to tell. This was mine.

Sometimes, we aren't ready to let go of the past. And sometimes, our past isn't ready to let go either.

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Inuyasha or its characters. Rumiko Takahashi ( and those whom she's given rights to) does. This oneshot was written for the lj prompt 'Ghost Story'.


End file.
